


HOOK: A semi‐circular punch thrown to the side of the opponent's head

by Pinkmanite



Series: Postgame [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Belting, Can be read as stand alone, Captain kink, D/s, Dirty Talk, Emotions and Self-Deprecation, Except PWP with Emotions, M/M, PWP, Patrick Kane's First NHL Fight Fic, Safewording, Spanking, reaction fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 14:52:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10467597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/Pinkmanite
Summary: “The fuck you think you were doing out there, huh, Kaner?” Jonny barks at him once he finally returns to the bench. “The hell’s gotten into you?” He isn’t happy. In fact, he’s the farthest thing from happy. He’s absolutely livid.“I’m fine, man,” Patrick shrugs “just fuck off.”“This better not fuck up your game--”“You’re one to talk, asshole. How many shots you got?” he spits back meanly. “Thought so.”Jonny doesn’t reply but Patrick knows he’s still fuming.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so it's been about thirty-six hours since Kaner's very first career NHL fight and I'm still upset that I missed watching it live but hey, thank god for DVR, right? But to summarize for the future and for those who didn't see it: On March 25, 2017, the Chicago Blackhawks were hosted by the Florida Panthers, who absolutely murdered the Hawks in cold blood. Literally got shut out seven to nothing. However, I couldn't even feel shitty about it because Kaner took a hit from Jussi Jokinen and then proceeded to _take down_ Jussi Jokinen. Which you can watch in all its glory [here](https://www.instagram.com/p/BSFkJ6HBS-g/) and [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vDCUTzQENqM). I was incredibly turned on and I'm sure a certain Jonathan Toews was probably chubbing up a little, too. Don't @ me. 
> 
> Anyway, this is my reaction fic to that game and Kaner's fight. I'm eventually serializing it with my other reaction fic, [alternate](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8814775), because I guess I'm writing hardcore porn every time time Kaner gets a bad hit? But it stands completely on its own and does not require any previous context.
> 
> This is self-edited and un-beta'd for now because I want to get it out before the next game, while the fight is still fresh. But don't worry, I'll probably come back and fix it around over the next few days.
> 
> Lastly, feel free to hit me up to talk about 1988 or literally anything on my fic twitter, @[pinkmanite](http://www.twitter.com/pinkmanite) or my tumblr, @[yammertime](http://yammertime.tumblr.com/)

Nobody talks during the ride back to the hotel. It’s a silent agreement for everyone to shut up and hang their heads in shame. Whatever the hell kind of game was just played was an embarrassment. An embarrassment to each and every player on this team, an embarrassment to the organization, an embarrassment to the sport of hockey, even.

Maybe that’s a little dramatic but Patrick can’t help how he _feels_ , okay?

Water’s dry, grass is red, and the Chicago Blackhawks were shut out 0-7 with thirty-four penalty minutes.

Two of which belong to Patrick.

For _fighting_.

Okay, maybe not technically fighting. He’s unfortunately not making his much-awaited debut on Hockey Fights Dot Com. But it was two minutes for roughing with dropped gloves and linesmen pulling him off that asshole Jokinen.

Maybe Patrick’s just sick and tired of everyone in the goddamn league thinking they can smack him around, alright?

The Blackhawks aren’t that type of team because Coach runs a tight ship that hones in on skill and smarts over brawn and brawl. Aside from a well-placed enforcing here and there, the Hawks don’t play rough.

They played rough.

But “rough” doesn’t really, truly describe it. Dick almost bashed someone’s face in while Desi was fucking another dude over. Hartzy played revolving door with the fucking penalty box. Thirty-four penalty minutes. Thirty-fucking-four.

The Blackhawks aren’t That Team. But today they were That Team.

Today they were That Team and Patrick himself was That Guy.

The _fighting_ guy.

Half of him is kind of giddy about it, he can’t lie. Patty Kane doesn't fight. That was his very first NHL career fight. His very, very first.

Even if it didn’t _really_ count.

But seriously, throwback to rookie year when Patrick sliced through his NHL firsts like butter. Milestone after milestone after milestone, left in his wake with not much time to appreciate them. Kid Kaner was racing to the Calder with Jonny Toews and Nicky Backstrom at his heels. His accomplishments and his firsts were expected and a delayed delivery would’ve been a disappointment to the entire hockey world.

Too long, don’t read: Rookie Pat Kane never lost his fighting virginity so ten years later he’s gonna damn well try to commemorate it.

But on the other hand, getting rowdy didn’t do anyone good. Aside from his two minutes in the box, he only registered a single shot. Board clear with a minus-four corsi, the other half of Patrick just wants to curl up and forget this game ever happened.

Which is what he tries to do as soon as they pull into the hotel. No snacks, no drinks, no dicking around. He just needs to chill the fuck out get out of his head.

He’s tossing over for the fourth time when there’s a knock on his door.

“The fuck,” Patrick mumbles, rubbing his eyes into focus. He isn’t really paying attention when he opens the door.

Which is why he yelps embarrassingly when Jonny shoves his way in and slams him on the wall in a single smooth motion.

“Jonny--”

“Shut up, Pat,” Jonny growls, big hands already tugging at the hem of Patrick’s pants, “just shut the fuck up.”

Pat never goes down easy and today isn’t any different. He squirms against Jonny, thrashes away when he tries to tug his pants down. But at the same time, he lets Jonny part his lips and he lets him ravage his mouth. He lets him suck an ugly hickey just at the edge of his neckline.

“Fuck,” Patrick slips, immediately regretting it. His face goes hot when he feels Jonny’s eyes on him, heated and full of warning.

Jonny’s fingers dance lightly over his Adam’s apple, playful but leaving him vulnerable. Jonny trails light, chaste kisses up Pat’s jawline until his lips rest wetly at his ear.

“Do you remember your safeword, baby?”

It’s sweet and it’s quiet and it’s a complete one-eighty from everything else that’s happened thus far. That’s happened today in general. Patrick takes a deep breath to steady himself, fearing the emotional whiplash otherwise.

“Kale,” Patrick sighs, unable to help the little quirk upward at the corner of his lips. It had been something bold, a little cheeky at the time. Jonny had rolled his eyes but respected Pat’s wishes, even with the shit-eating grin that Patrick didn’t even attempt to hide.

But it’s times like now -- when Jonny’s here like this, with _him_ like this -- that Pat’s saucy little safeword isn’t so smug, isn’t so funny.

It’s something precious and Jonny won’t ever let him forget how much it means for them.

So Jonny just nods, nose brushing lovingly against Patrick’s curls, until he suddenly clenches a fistful of them and yanks Patrick’s head back.

Spin ‘em right round, baby, right round, eh?

Pat lets Jonny shove a knee between his legs, settling right up against his dick. He even spreads them a little bit further to accommodate him, trying his best to steady his breathing and give in to Jonny.

But there’s that other part of him that wants to make Jonny work for him. The part that won’t go pliant and putty just like that because if Jonny’s gonna do this for him, he’s gotta do this for Jonny, too.

Jonny wouldn’t be here if he didn’t need this just as much as Patrick does.

Sometimes maybe even a little more.

For Patrick, it’s a way to get out of his head. It’s a way for him to stop all the thinking and wallowing and self-deprecation. Jonny takes that responsibility from him, he doles out the proper punishment so Patrick can start the next game fresh and without the weight of the last.

But for Jonny? Patrick doesn’t fully understand it but he knows it helps keep Jonny grounded. It helps Jonny remember that he’s still in control, even when everything spirals out of his hands and goes against his plans. Even if Jonny’s captaincy couldn’t lead a victory on ice, Jonny’s captaincy could impact Patrick.  He can control Patrick, when they’re alone like this, at least.

And that’s enough to keep them both going.

But for now, Jonny’s got his hand rooted in Patrick’s hair and he’s using it to shove him at the bed.

“Be good,” he hums, shoving Patrick’s face into the pillow. He lets up only when he starts to undo his belt.

"If you continue to play like that and think you can just turn it off come playoff time? Well then you've got another thing coming," Jonny warns, the tell-tale beat of leather tapping his palm, “Take this as a warning.”

Patrick jumps when he feels the brush of it over the curve of his ass, cursing that he should’ve expected it.

He expects the full smack of it when it comes but he winces, nonetheless.

Jonny doesn’t make him count so Patrick doesn’t really keep track of them. But he clenches his eyes shut and focuses on the feel of it. Loses himself in the growing sting on his ass. Jonny starts at the bottom curve, right on the meat of it but just above the junction, gradually working his way up. It’s not forcefully hard, Patrick knows full well what a good, hard smack from Jonny feels like and this isn’t it.

They’re playing Tampa in less than forty-eight hours and it gets Patrick all tingly that Jonny has that in mind.

At the same time, every smack is firm and stinging. It might not leave a lasting mark but Patrick knows that his ass must be blossoming into a nice rosy pink, warm to the touch. It’s not comfortable and it’s not gentle.

It’s exactly what Patrick needs. He melts into it.

Patrick doesn’t know when he starts crying. He doesn’t even really know when Jonny stops spanking him. But eventually, he feels Jonny’s hands turning him over onto his back, careful of his still-stinging ass. Eventually he feels Jonny’s calloused thumb smearing the wet tracks over his cheeks.

“Hush,” he whispers, almost soothing, “breathe, babe. You good?”

Jonny must know that Patrick’s slipping under, must see him getting all floaty in just the right way. He must know because he looks Pat’s little half-hearted nod and knows what it means.

“What's your safeword, babe?”

It takes Patrick a second to process but he mumbles a quiet little “kale” and subconsciously shuffles toward Jonny.

“Good,” Jonny says, firm again, “now tell me what the fuck you were thinking when you dropped gloves.”

He twists one of Patrick’s nipple at the same time. Patrick yelps.

It helps pull him out a little, gets him thinking before he slips into total subspace. Jonny’s not done with him and he won't let Patrick get floaty until he’s ready.

Patrick trusts him to make that decision. Patrick trusts him to make a lot of decisions.

“I asked you a question, Patrick,” Jonny says, rolling the same nipple between his thumb and forefinger, lightly nipping at the other.

“I can’t let ‘em fuck around with me, Jonny,” Patrick sighs, “I can fend for myself. ‘M just tryna prove it.”

Jonny pauses to peer up at Pat, who lifts his head just enough to look right back. Pat can see the second that Jonny snaps out of scene so they end up sitting up at the same time.

“I’m safewording,” Jonny says in a rush, then as an afterthought, “Big Mac.”

Patrick inhales sharply, trying his best to get back to himself. Jonny notices and stiffens, immediately manhandling Patrick until he’s more or less in his lap, arms wrapped tight around him.

“You okay?” Jonny says after a couple seconds, chin resting on top of Patrick’s head. “I just… I didn’t realize you felt like that.”

“Hm?” Patrick tilts his head back, comfortably resting against Jonny’s bare chest. “Oh, the fight? Well yeah, I dunno, I guess? I know I take a lot of hits that don’t get whistled. And I know we don’t play like that but,” Pat swallows, “but sometimes I feel like assholes think I’m a free pass?”

Jonny opens his mouth to say something and Patrick only knows because he can feel the edge of his jaw on his crown. But Patrick feels around until he can grasp Jonny’s hand to squeeze it, quietly hushing him.

“Don’t do that,” Patrick says, “the blaming yourself thing. Stop it. I know that you guys have my back when I need it, okay? I know that. But I’m just trying to… I’m just trying to explain what was going through my head in the moment? With Jokinen, I mean.”

“Yeah but I want to protect you--”

“I know,” Patrick stops him, “and I know that you’re going to think about it too much now,” he sighs. “But I couldn’t feel any safer when I’m with you. You’ll always protect me, always have my back, always be there. You’re the one that starts shouting at the ref. I know and I love you for it. But it’s more about me?

“I don’t want guys to come in thinking ‘oh there’s Pat Kane, bet we can get in his head if we knock him around.’ Which we both know doesn't get to me. Not on the ice. But after? When I’m at home and watching tape? It just… sucks.”

It’s quiet for a second while they let it settle. Patrick can hear Jonny thinking and it’s getting him worked up again.

Jonny must sense as much.

“Well I’m proud of you.”

That’s not what Patrick was expecting.

“You took a nice swing on the ground. Would’ve been better if it landed,” Jonny muses, “but shit I was _turned on_.”

“Oh,” Patrick says, a little grin starting, “is that so, Captain Goon?”

Jonny laughs, easy and warm, swirling his thumb over Patrick’s hand. “Captain Goon should be worried about the new competition. But just Jonny is kinda proud. And a little hot.”

Patrick cranes his head back and leans up until their lips meet, slow and sensual and soft. It’s nice and lazy. Patrick can’t help but think about how much he loves this man.

“I love you,” he says as much, voice rough.

Jonny smiles, “I love you, too, you goon.”

It’s sweet and slow for a little bit longer, Patrick melting into Jonny’s touch, high off his warmth. But eventually, Patrick stops thinking with his head.

Well, the one up top, anyway.

“Worried about competition, hm?” Patrick murmurs, surly, at Jonny’s ear.

“Eh?”

“Fisticuffs competition,” Patrick clarifies through his smirk. “If you’re worried about it then maybe you should _defend_ your title.”

Patrick emphasizes his point by wiggling his ass over Jonny’s obviously growing cock.

“Maybe you should put me in my place, Captain. Keep your boys in line, huh?”

Jonny’s eyes goes dark and Patrick’s breath catches in his throat. Jonny pounces on him, slamming his back into the bed, almost enough to knock the wind out of him. He snatches Pat’s wrists and crosses them above his head, pinning him to the mattress.

“Gonna be good for me? A good little slut for his captain?”

“Yes, sir,” Patrick exhales, breathy.

Jonny responds by cupping Pat’s cock in one hand, thumbing at the slit and loosely jacking him. It’s not nearly enough for anything other than driving Patrick crazy. Jonny releases his hold on his wrists, expecting Patrick to be good and hold them there.

Patrick tries his very best, squirming and resisting the urge to swat Jonny’s hands away and finish this off himself. But out of the corner of his eye he sees Jonny pop the cap on the little travel tube of KY he strategically left on Patrick’s bedside table in the afternoon.

Patrick would make a snarky comment if it weren’t for the performance of Jonny lubing himself up with quick, loose tugs.

“Oh fuck me,” Pat groans.

“Working on it,” Jonny grins. “Now hold your knees up for me, slut.”

Patrick grins right back, making a show of pulling up his legs and clutching them to his chest. He feels a little smug when he hears Jonny’s breath pick up.

It doesn’t last long because there’s an icy cold finger suddenly poking its way up his hole, determined and unrelenting.

“Jonny, fuck…”

“Who?” Jonny grunts.

Patrick rolls his eyes when he knows Jonny’s not looking.

“Please, _Captain_ ,” he whines dramatically, “more. Gimme more. Please.”

Jonny’s only acknowledgement is another abrupt finger that makes Patrick startle. Once Jonny get them to the second knuckle, he starts to crook them upward, effectively targeting Patrick’s sweet spot. He swallows hard.

“Let me hear you,” Jonny demands a little meanly, if only for the fact he adds in the last finger and immediately starts to scissor Patrick out.

Soon enough, Jonny deems his work enough and carefully withdraws his fingers. He doesn’t say anything but Patrick can hear his voice in his head, prompting the right lines of dirty talk.

“I need my captain’s cock, please.”

Jonny gives him a look.

“I need my captain to put his big cock in my slutty little hole,” Patrick exhales in one smooth breath. He smirks a little when he sees Jonny’s cock twitch.

“Fucking slut,” Jonny groans, pushing his head into Patrick’s presented hole. He keeps on hand on his dick, guiding it in. The other rests against the back of Patrick’s knee, helping to keep his leg up and his hole exposed.

“Good boy,” Jonny sighs once he’s all the way in, balls pressed up against Patrick’s still-pink ass. “Right good slut for your captain, yeah?”

Patrick groans, wiggling both closer and away from Jonny, unsure of what exactly he wants. He’s getting floaty, focused on the stretch of his rim and the fullness of Jonny inside him. No matter how many times they do this, the feeling of Jonny inside him will never lose its appeal.

Jonny starts to pull out, all the way to the tip, just to shove right back in without warning. Patrick groans, clenching every time Jonny hits his prostate directly on. Jonny crowds him in, forearm pinned across his chest and a hand rested next to Patrick’s head. Pat dutifully turns his head to nip at Jonny’s fingers until he offers two up for Patrick to suck on.

“Jonny, Jonny, Jonny,” he chants around them, wet and desperate.

“Come for me, baby, come for your captain.”

Patrick comes hard, most of it soaking Jonny’s abs. He’s left breathless and sensitive while Jonny murmurs dirty little things in his ear, slamming into him over and over again. It’s impossibly too soon for him to get it up again but he feels some kind of hazy, pin-prickly pleasure when Jonny holds him down and shoves into him one last time, coming in hard streams that Patrick can feel fill him up.

Jonny slips out when he rolls onto his back, plopping down next to Patrick. He’s breathing heavily, completely worked through and exhausted. Patrick feels Jonny’s come start to dribble out of him, starting to drip down his thigh. He leaves it be, instead rolling onto his side to throw an arm around Jonny and trace kisses along his collarbone.

“Thanks, Cap,” Patrick murmurs.

Jonny kisses him good and hard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Patrick wakes up first, just as he usually does. He lets Jonny sleep in, only stopping for a second to admire his sleeping face, and goes down to team breakfast with a renewed energy in his step. He makes it through his whole meal before Jonny makes his appearance.

“Hey,” Pat shouts from his seat in the booth between Seabs and the wall. Duncs is across from them, still picking at his omelette. Jonny’s just walked in, hair still damp from his shower and eyes groggy without coffee. “Grab us another round of bagels, could ya, Cap?”

One table over, Hartzy almost drops his fork, face gone pale. He swallows and give Trevor -- equally as sickly-colored -- a panicked look.

‘Cap?’ Hartzy mouths. Trevor makes gagging motions when he knows no one else is looking.

Walls are thin and neither think they can look at Jonny’s ‘C’ quite in the same way ever again. Not that they’d ever dare to tell him.

But when Jonny gets an anonymously placed ball gag in his locker the next day? They’re not saying they did but they won’t say they didn’t.

The team can thank them later.

  
  
  
  


 

 


End file.
